


let me put my love into you

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5103338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His memory is fickle at best and Stiles’, the memory of him, like this, is something Derek wants to keep with him until he’s too old to remember his own name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me put my love into you

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this nsfw gif. ](http://missmeeya.tumblr.com/post/60393348466)

There are sweat drops trickling down the long expanse of Stiles’ back, bumping into scars, beauty marks and the sharp knobs of his spine. Derek imagines that the feel of them, moving so slow and lazy down bare skin, must be incredibly ticklish to Stiles.  
  


Stiles hates being sweaty, complaining about phantom drops and sticky shirts, pawing at his own back when fully dressed while grumbling that the sensation of a single drop of salty water rolling down his back makes him want to rub his back against a tree. These complaints only get worse as summer time rolls around, abating as winter makes its slow approach.  
  


The steady rhythm with which Stiles has been moving between his own hand and Derek’s cock falters as one drop hovers uncertainly before the sweet curve of Stiles’ ass. “Fuck.” Stiles breathes out, head dipping forward to show off the back of his neck to Derek’s hot gaze.  
  


His eyes have been doing this for what feels like an eternity. Follow a sweat drops lazy journey down Stiles’ writhing back before going back up to pick another drop and repeat the process.  
  


Sometimes his eyes linger on Stiles’ shoulder blades, so sharp and angry as Stiles moves on top of him. Another time he brought his hand up to squeeze one of Stiles’ cheeks, kneading the firm globe as he stares at his cock penetrating Stiles.  
  


Derek finds himself losing time in the sweet shift and writhing of Stiles’ muscles, wishing that he knew of way through which he could capture the sight of light and shadow painting over Stiles’ marked back. His memory is fickle at best and Stiles’, the memory of him, like this, is something Derek wants to keep with him until he’s too old to remember his own name.  
  


He doesn’t want to forget the sharp little exhales that Stiles lets out every time he manages to grind down just right. Or the constellation of marks under his ribs, Derek’s favorite place to kiss Stiles’ especially the spot almost in the middle of Stiles’ spine.   
  


Unfamiliar though he is with intoxication and the entire concept of it, Derek thinks that when he’s with Stiles, like this when Stiles is holding both of them on the edge of a toe curling orgasm out of sheer will, he gets it. He imagines that feeling drunk or drugged  _must_ feel like this - like he’s on top of the world, like he doesn’t have any control, every nerve sizzles and burns because of their hypersensitivity.  
  


Stiles, Derek thinks hazily as he braces his feet and thrusts up into Stiles’ tight ass, is his drug. His addiction. One that he doesn’t want help for. Derek is content in the rush that comes with being the only one who has ever seen Stiles like this (and ever will if he’s got any say on the matter), the only one who has marked Stiles inside and out.   
  


The hand that Stiles has on his stomach feels like a brand on Derek’s skin, just like the other points where their bare skin is connected. “Do that again.” Stiles breathes out, his hips moving down with a wet smack that makes Derek grunt and move up in retaliation.   
  


There is no rhythm now, just the both of them trying their level best to break the other first. Stiles removes his hand from Derek’s abs, leaning forward instead to grab the older man’s legs and ruthlessly work himself back and down.  
  


It’s the perfect view, the perfect position. There’s nothing but Stiles and him - sweat, slick and his cock stretching Stiles’ pink hole wide open. Stiles tends to say that they have yet to find the perfect position that works for them always but Derek already knows which position is the best - anyone where he can see himself fucking into Stiles.  
  


Derek groans, fingers clenching against the sheets as he fights down the urge to fall on his back and grab Stiles’ hips before fucking into him so hard that Stiles will be limping for the next few days.  
  


Stiles’ body trembles like a leaf, his head shaking as he begins to curse and mumble under his breath, desperate to come. “Derek. Der-” His voice breaks half way through Derek’s name, the sound of it spurning Derek higher.   
  


“C'mon Stiles,” Derek taunts breathlessly, “You said you wanted to use me. So do it.” With a shaky whine, Stiles’ ass grinds down on his cock, rocking back and forth as he searches and searches until- “That’s it.” Derek croons throatily when he feels Stiles’ entire body  _jerk_.  
  


With a helpless cry, Stiles’ body bows forward as he continues to use Derek, working the man’s hard cock repeatedly against his prostate. Derek wonders how wet and sticky Stiles’ fingers must be at this point and makes a note to lick them clean once they’re done.   
  


His eyes linger yet again on Stiles’ hole, watching the ring of muscles twitch and contract around him repeatedly. “ _Shit!_ ” he curses loudly when he feels his orgasm coming, desire coiling tight and tense before it rams into him.   
  


Derek grinds back up into Stiles, moving against the younger man’s rhythm but it seems to do the trick when Stiles stifles a shout into the sheets and squeezes  _tight_ around Derek. It makes Derek’s cock spurt out more come into Stiles, his head thumping back painfully hard into the headboard when Stiles’ squeezes him once more.  
  


Trembling arms finally giving out, Derek flops back on the mound of pillows behind him and stares blankly at the ceiling. One hand feels its way up to Stiles’ body, wriggling its way in the no-space between Stiles’ leg and stomach. “MMmmm.” The younger man sighs, legs relaxing and spreading wider on top on Derek’s hips. “That was nice.”  
  


With a faint grin, Derek raises his head up and gets an eyeful of Stiles’ wriggling ass. “Yeah,” he replies softly, almost dreamily.


End file.
